When Medical Neglect Turns Into a Trauma

Twenty years old. To say I was naïve would be a drastic understatement.

Appointments at the clinic I attended were divided between whichever doctor could see you that day. My pregnancy was completely healthy. Never being pregnant before, hindsight proves that I was extremely patient. The weeks went by and fall was upon us. My baby was due. Week 39 went by and nothing. Week 40 no baby.

• What is PTSD?

At the end of 40 weeks on a Friday, I went to the doctor. Rushing into the room was a doctor I had never met. She advised me that the doctors that ran the clinic had hired her just for me and this weekend. If I went into labor, she would deliver. If not, I would be induced Monday morning. She listened to my baby’s heartbeat, assured me everything was fine and I left.

Saturday night at about 9:30 p.m. my contractions began. I knew I was in labor because I had never experienced this pain. I arrived at the hospital. No epidural and no pain meds. Natural labor for around 11 hours.

As quickly as she came in the day before, Doctor Doom came rushing in. I had been there all night. It was now morning and I was under the impression all was well.

“Your baby isn’t happy, lie down and flip side to side,” she yelled.

I did. My gown was taken off of me, an oxygen mask slapped on me and I was made to rotate side to side. At this time, I was dilated to nine.

“We have to get the baby out,” she told me.

There was no conversation. No why.

I was rushed back to the operating room. As I was being rolled back I remember being told by a nurse to push if I felt like pushing. This confused me, I thought I was having a cesarean now. In the operating room, I was told to shift myself over to the operating table.

I did. I remember a mask going on my face and being told to count to 10.

When I woke up, no one would speak to me. I could see medical staff rushing around. I yelled, no reply. I began throwing surgical tools that were around me. Still no one relied. The picture of a nurse walking by in tears will forever be engrained in my mind.

My father was sent in to speak to me.

“They are still working on her,” he told me.

This was how I was told my daughter was not OK. There was no joy for my eldest daughter’s birth. No laughter. There were tears and gut-wrenching fear. My daughter was a complete resuscitation. This event and so many within the next few weeks while she was in NICU drove my life of coping for the next nine years. We learned about medical negligence. Within the first hour of my arriving there were 12 heart decelerations on her fetal monitoring strip. It was proven that a cesarean should have been performed within that first hour.

This traumatic birth experience resulted in my precious daughter having cerebral palsy and epilepsy. We survived. We grew together and we flourished. My daughter and I lived.

I also coped. My degree and career while advocating for my daughter throughout her life became a distraction for me. When my daughter was under a year old I took her for a well child check-up. Her pediatrician who was also my care provider told me what a wonderful job I was doing. He then looked at me and asked, “When you put A _____ to bed and you are alone, how do you feel?”

Without hesitation or thinking I replied through tears, “I feel like I could tear my house down with my bare hands.”

This began my diagnosed mental health journey. This began my journey with anxiety. This day began being able to say what it was I was feeling. I was given a name of what happening to me. This day began my nine-year journey to a diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder. Trauma is real and medical neglect is real. Mental health is a journey. I am not special nor will I ever claim to have any quick fixes or magic to healing. What I can do is share my story so someone else doesn’t feel alone.

If my sharing this experience will only help one person I am happy. Bad things happen to everyone. It doesn’t matter who you are. Trauma and tragedy happen. So, my friend, what I can tell you is this — you did not cause your child’s medical neglect. You were not wrong to trust care providers. This is not your fault.